“Alfie!”
The door in the parlor opened, and Margie roared up the stairs to him. He stepped quickly back into his bedroom and closed the door.
“Alfie!” she shouted again. “Come down these stairs.”
There was nothing he could do. He opened his door and came down slowly, walking into the parlor where Margie was sitting, looking pale with worry. Old Bill looked remorseful, and Granny Summerfield was crying into her handkerchief and saying, “What’s next? What’s next for us now?”
“Sorry about this, sport,” said Old Bill, shrugging his shoulders. “But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do and all that rot. No hard feelings?”
Alfie said nothing; simply looked at his mother and waited for her to speak.
“Tell me Bill is wrong,” she said finally, her voice shaking a little.
“About what?”
“Alfie, I’m going to ask you this only once. Who did you bring back to this house this afternoon?”
Alfie thought about it and hesitated. “This afternoon?” he asked, as if there were any number of people he brought here generally but he couldn’t be quite certain who had come here today.
“Alfie!”
“No one,” he said quickly. “There wasn’t anyone here. Just me.”
“Bill says different.”
“Bill’s a hundred years old. He’s half mad.”
“Strike me!” said Old Bill, shaking his head and laughing.
“Alfie, has your father been here? Tell me the truth.”
Alfie swallowed hard and felt he was on the verge of tears. He mumbled something under his breath, and Margie stepped forward so quickly that he took a step back in fright.
“What did you say?” she asked, raising her voice.
“You said he was on a secret mission for the government!” roared Alfie. “That’s what you told me. But he wasn’t. He was in hospital. And you didn’t let me go and see him.”
“Oh, Alfie,” said Margie quietly, sinking into the broken armchair in front of the fireplace. “What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything,” said Alfie.
“So it was him,” said Old Bill. “I knew it was. I might be old, Alfie Summerfield, but I’ve known your father since he was knee-high to a grasshopper and I could tell that was him walking past my window.”
“How did he seem?” asked Margie.
“Well, I don’t know,” said Bill with a shrug. “I only saw him through the net curtain. I’ve no way of telling, do I?”
“Where is he, Alfie?” asked Margie. “Tell me! Wait, is he upstairs? He is, isn’t he? You have him upstairs in your bedroom! Georgie!” she cried, leaping from her chair and running out into the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time—something Alfie had never seen her do before. “Georgie, are you up here?”
She ran into Alfie’s bedroom, and he heard her opening the wardrobe and falling on the floor to look under the bed, and just at that moment there was another knock on the door and Alfie turned to stare at it for a moment before feeling a sense of relief. It was him—it had to be. He was safe. He’d come home. He reached for the latch and opened it, and for a moment he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
It wasn’t Georgie Summerfield standing there.
It was Dr. Ridgewell.
“You,” said Alfie in astonishment.
The doctor narrowed his eyes and frowned, as if he vaguely recognized the boy but couldn’t remember where from. “This is number twelve, isn’t it?” he asked. “Summerfield residence?”
“Yes,” said Alfie, the word catching in his throat.
“Is your mother home?”
“Alfie, who’s at the door?”
Margie came back downstairs and opened the door wider, staring in disbelief at who was standing on her doorstep.
“Mrs. Summerfield?” asked Dr. Ridgewell.
“That’s right.”
“May I come in? I’m Max Ridgewell. A doctor at the East Suffolk.”
“We’ve met,” said Margie. “Half a dozen times at least.”
“We have?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Ridgewell shook his head and had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Summerfield. There are so many people, you understand. Wives, mothers. I don’t always remember everyone.”
“Come in,” said Margie, opening the door and ushering him into the parlor. “This is my mother-in-law and my next-door neighbor, Mr. Hemperton.”
“Good afternoon,” said Dr. Ridgewell. “Perhaps we should talk privately, Mrs. Summerfield? There are some things that—”
“Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of these people,” said Margie quickly, waving her hand in the air and both embracing and dismissing them in the same gesture. “Have you found him?”
Dr. Ridgewell hesitated and looked surprised. “You know he’s gone missing, then?”
“I guessed. Bill thought he saw him earlier today. And Alfie here”—she nodded in the direction of her son—“he’s got something to do with it. Only he’s not saying as yet. Are you, Alfie?”
Dr. Ridgewell pointed a long bony finger in the air. “I know you, don’t I?” he said.
“No.”
“Yes I do. How do I know you? Your face is familiar to me.” He shook his head and he thought about it. “Wait a minute,” he said after a moment. “You’re not … you’re the boy with the shoeshine stand.”
“The what?” asked Margie.
“Down at King’s Cross. That’s you, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Alfie, looking away.
“Yes it is!”
“Alfie, what’s he talking about?” asked Margie. “A shoeshine stand? You don’t have a … the smell of polish,” she realized, shaking her head. “In your bedroom. I’m always commenting on it.”
“All right, I shine shoes at the station,” admitted Alfie. “But only to help us out. To help you out. I put the money in your purse. You take in washing! You take in darning! I’m doing my bit, like everyone else.”
“A shoeshine boy,” said Granny Summerfield, putting her hands on her face and looking thoroughly appalled. “Have we sunk that low? What’s become of us?”
“Look, can we leave this for now?” said Dr. Ridgewell. “I’m here about your husband, Mrs. Summerfield. You realize he’s gone missing? He’s not at the hospital anymore. And there are reports of a small boy hanging around the premises.”
“Alfie, where is he?” cried Margie, taking him by the shoulders. “Tell me! He’s not well. Don’t you realize that? Your father’s not well! Where have you—”
“I don’t know!” shouted Alfie, bursting into tears now. “I lost him.”
“You lost him?”
“He was with me at the station. I went over to buy him some cigarettes and then he disappeared. There was all this noise, you see. The slamming of doors. I think he was frightened and—”
“He can’t abide loud noises,” said Dr. Ridgewell. “Most of them can’t. It’s all the shelling they had to put up with. It’s played havoc with their nervous systems. That’s why we try to keep the hospital as a place of peace and serenity. It’s why we don’t let children in to visit.”